Love-Lost Elegy
by moonselector
Summary: Seven years is a surprisingly hard thing to undo. [Luke/Natalia]


**Title:** Love-Lost Elegy  
 **Pairing:** Natalia/Luke, Natalia/Asch  
 **Timeframe:** mostly in-game  
 **A/N:** you ever ship something from day 1 and then accept canon just fine but at the same time u never like. be good and un-ship it like you're supposed to. repost from ao3

.

They snuck out to the gardens, Natalia giggling, his hand wrapped around hers tighter than necessary, but it was okay; she knew it was because he didn't want her to do something silly, like tripping over the frills on her baby-blue dress and falling unceremoniously to the ground, which in her defense, had only happened once before.

It had been raining and the ground had been slippery with mud. She'd leaned against his shoulder as he brought her back to the mansion and wrapped a plaster over her swollen knee, scolding her under his breath— all in secrecy of both their parents (Guy had cooperated. Under duress, of course).

It was a good memory, marred by her wincing as the antiseptic-soaked cotton touched her skin. He'd tried his best to be gentle. He always was.

"Come on," he said. His suit was very smart, and in the moonlight there was a slant of mischief about his smile. And she, ever the daring romantic, was too willing to be dragged along. "Before our parents come looking for us."

He loosened his shoulders once they were far enough away from the party, all the adults and the chatter and the mystifying, off-limit juices. It was a coming-of-age ceremony for a second cousin on her mother's side; Charles, or so she'd heard. Natalia smiled indulgently, and pretended to be engrossed by the rosebush when he turned to check if she was staring.

"It's not that bad," she admitted. It was dark enough so her blush wouldn't show. "I like parties. But the room was getting stuffy. It's nice to breathe in some fresh air for a moment."

"Oh please, I could barely stand it in there. When we grow up, we're not gonna be like that, are we?"

"Relax. It's because your tie's on too tight. I, for one, like the pretty dresses I get to wear for the occasion." She turned to him and stepped forward. "Here, I'll loosen it for you."

"We're not gonna spend time holding these… _ceremonies_ when we could be helping the country instead." To his credit, he was squirming less than she expected. It was rather adorable.

She really was in love with him, she thought then. It was a nice thought. She reminded herself of it, every now and then, that nothing could break the easy reassurance of knowing she was loved back; that the man he was going to marry was right in front of her.

"My. You know what it means when we're both of age, right?" Natalia reminded. "I haven't forgotten our promise. Don't worry." Her smile softened, and she let go of his tie. "And I wouldn't mind a more… modest wedding, you know. As long as there are bouquets and a white dress, I think I'll be happy."

"I'm not sure you mean the part about being _modest_ ," he said, brows creasing skeptically, "considering you've been planning our wedding 'in secret' for months now. You're very obvious. I saw you staring at those roses just now."

"Oh, Luke," Natalia sighed, and this time she took his hand, confident and gentle. Even in the dark, his hair was so, so red. "Somehow, I have a feeling you don't mind _that_ very much at all."

And then she wakes up.

.

"Natalia?"

She turns around near the inn's room door to be greeted by Luke, loitering aimlessly in the hallway. It's late in the evening, past what Jade would derisively categorize as bedtime when Anise is involved. He notices her footsteps, and blinks, and almost jolts, peers at her with green-eyed, concerned curiosity. The first thing she thinks is wonder how he snuck out of the guys' room, but the second thing is— she finds herself feeling glad.

"Shouldn't you be asleep? Hey, you'll get sick if you stay up. After the monster, and the— well. You should go back to bed," he finishes, all awkward frenzy. His hand twitches in an abortive movement, like he wanted to lift it, reach out towards her, and she pretends not to notice. "We've got a big day tomorrow."

"Don't give me that, seeing as you're also awake." There's an urge to fold her arms and scoff, prideful, but she suppresses it. Her mouth pulls into a neutral line.

It was a hard thing to get herself used to, this new Luke— Luke saying sorry, Luke caring for her, the Luke she knew for the past seven years not being the dashing prince forever trapped in the desperately romantic glow of her girlish, childhood nostalgia— but he's trying. He's trying harder than he ever did in his seven years of life, and she knows she has to do her part and accept him too.

She's trying, too.

It should have been her, Natalia finds herself thinking, sometimes, not Guy. She's chained herself to Luke for so long under the pretense of a memory that turned out to be a lie, clouding her vision so much that she forgot that she owed him at least that: the decency of a second chance.

She should have tried to understand. She should have been there. She should have gone back for him too, the same way she reached herself out to Asch.

Instead she just left.

"You don't look so good. Something wrong?" He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, a hint of nervousness creeping into his smile. "Hey," he goes on, when she doesn't respond straightaway. "It's not indigestion, is it? My sandwich wasn't _that_ bad. Even Tear gave it two stars— I'm making progress! Faster than a certain princess I know, at least." He moves as if to nudge her playfully, but hesitates at the last second.

It was easier for them to interact, before. Back when they thought the blank space in his memory was just that, back when the kidnapping hung over them like a specter, a looming cloud of questions and doubt forever threatening to brew into a storm.

He would push her away, and she would chase him and push him and annoy him with a barrage of demands, demanding him to understand, clutching onto a single shining memory like a piece of driftwood in a sea of uncertainty, so sure that if she tried hard enough, he would come to look at her the way she wanted to. The way princesses in fairytales were looked at.

But she isn't even that. She isn't a princess, and— something tears inside her at the unfairness of the thought, the _selfishness_ — and Luke isn't Asch isn't hers, and when he looks at her she can almost feel the poorly-hidden pity in his gaze, the unsaid apology.

Stupid. She should be the one saying that.

"Hey. Are you alright?" Luke tries again, and she thinks she should give his perception more credit, because it makes her smile, despite herself. She can imagine him wishing he were Gailardia right now. Guy would know the right things to say, meaning every sweet word, but there's a charm to Luke's ventures, a fumbling earnestness she can't place and suspects he doesn't entirely recognize. He must run Tear's heart ragged.

"There's nothing you need to say." Natalia shakes her head, sets the line of her shoulders straight. She's been teaching herself to stop looking for things to lean against, to hold onto, but it's an instinct, a natural compulsion. She doesn't like to think of it as a weakness. "But thank you. I know you don't remember, but I miss Belkend. The place used to be quieter, before. The stars were clearer then. I wanted to take a look."

"Wanted to clear your head a bit, huh?" He doesn't look all that convinced, but he rubs the back of his neck, leaves it at that. It's been a long few days. "Do you… want some time to yourself? I could stay back." He seems almost eager to be rejected.

"No, it's no problem. It seems I'm not the only one with something on my mind." He follows her out the inn a moment after her, stepping onto one of the cool metal ramps. She taps an idle tune onto the railing, watches him shift, unsure of what to say or do, and then she looks up. The sky's cloudier than she remembers, a little less picturesque. Light pollution, she guesses. Or maybe she's growing up. "When I called Asch the real Luke… you heard me through the channel, didn't you?"

Luke blinks, "Oh, that. Don't worry about it. I mean… you were right to get mad." A pause, a brief but painful moment of self-reflection. He glances, sidelong, at something faraway. "And even if you still believe that, I don't have the right to resent you for it."

Natalia considers the words, swallows the plain frankness of his voice. Her chest tightens. She sidles closer to him. "The weather gets cool this time of year," she wants to say, but doesn't. Their elbows could be touching.

"Is that why you cut your hair? My. I'm sorry." The word sounds lame when she says it; anticlimactic. She's practiced it too many times in her head, perhaps more for her own self-comfort than anything else.

"No, it wasn't that," he says, and sounds honest in a way that makes her guilty. Relieved. Sad. Lately trying to sort out her emotions feels like trudging through molasses, and sometimes she thinks she shouldn't even try anymore. But fatalism isn't a poison she can afford to indulge in.

"Well, it's good on you."

"Tear fixed it up for me. It looked terrible at first. You'd laugh if you saw me."

A neutral silence follows until she becomes the first to break it. "I'm sorry," Natalia tries again. "Those seven years of memories… don't disappear in an instant. You might be a replica, but you're not a replacement, no matter what anyone might say. But… sometimes, I think of Asch, and how he's feeling, how alone he must be, and I just…" Her wrist digs at her eyes, pricking and hot and dry, and beside her Luke stays silent, frozen, his expression careful and blank. "I wish he'd come back to me for good. So something would be right for once. Then maybe I wouldn't have these thoughts that are so unfair to you."

"Hey, it's fine. I'm not angry. Just take your time." He places an awkward hand on her shoulder. He wouldn't think it's a good idea to hug her, probably. She feels bad for Tear. She wants to laugh again, like she did before she broke down in sobs in Inista Marsh. "That asshole should get over himself already. Though, maybe I shouldn't be talking. I feel like in some ways, I hurt you worse in those seven years than he did. I was a real jerk, wasn't I?" he says and it's not really a question, more like an admission of guilt.

"Yes, yes you were," Natalia says, and smiles, a broad and rueful slash across her face, which she buries in her hands, framed by the gold of her hair. "But I tried so hard to believe, for so long. And even though you're not Asch and I'm not a princess— and I suppose that makes us even now, doesn't it— I'm far too stubborn to believe that it doesn't count for something."

How irrational. How selfish.

.

"I knew you were listening in, too," she sighs to Luke. Well— Luke's form, snoozing contentedly under the blanket. He must have thought he was being clever.

Natalia sits on the opposite bed— they splurged on a pretty big room tonight— her hands laid on her knees. Her face is red, her chest constricting and heavy with the weight of the vow she exchanged with Asch as the sun descended the Sheridan horizon across them, a scintillating display of reds and oranges. The light was warmer on her cheeks than she ever remembered it being. It hurt, too. She had to remember to keep blinking.

"You're… not exactly subtle. You're lucky Asch didn't notice, or I would've had to stop him from lunging at you."

It made her so happy, hearing those words from him again. And again and again they replay in her mind, as much a consolation to her as they are the encouragement he intended them to be, the final push she needed to convince her to go to Baticul to have the king salvage the peace treaty. But no repeating could temper the pain of knowing that those words came from a childhood that was long gone. A time of peace and innocence they could never return to.

Asch realized that long before she did. She remembers the awkward distance he forced between them, her halting attempts to call Asch by a name that no longer belonged to him. The foolish, childish desperation to cling onto the threads of a fate that started to err the moment Van took him away. But she knows better now. Doesn't she?

She looks at Luke. Her mouth quivers, not quite into a smile but halfway there. She imagines, hopes it will be easier someday. She wants to hope. As long as there is Asch, as long as there is time— she wants to believe therein lies a future. A happy ending for them all.

But.

"Well, it's okay. It's not like I'm mad. Not really. I wanted you to hear, anyway," she whispers, and exhales, and throws herself onto the bed, turning on her side. To hear for the first time the words that she's tucked inside her heart for ten years now— she supposes that right now, it's the closest thing Luke can get to fulfilling her request for good.

"Thanks, Luke."

Irrationally, selfishly, it makes her heart swell.

.

The snow falls all around as Natalia watches the kids in Keterburg plaza laughing and tossing snowballs at each other. She presses her wrist against the bench railing, the gelid metal that's frozen over, and shivers. The cold, hopefully, rather than residual nerves. She supposes it's normal, being that they're going to leave for the Absorption Gate tomorrow— where Van is waiting. The weight of Auldrant's future rests upon their shoulders.

Luke watches her for a moment, silent as if searching for a signal, and when he meets her eyes, she stands up, nods tightly, and smiles.

"Did you talk to Tear yet?"

"Yeah. I tried to say the right things, but… She's hard on herself. I know it must be hard, having to fight your own blood like that. "

"What about you? For a long time, I thought Van was the only person you could stand in the world. Well— there was Guy, too, of course, but it's a given, considering he practically raised you." She considers his sheepish smile.

"It hurt," he admits, "when I found out how he truly felt. It still does. It paralyzed me when he took my trust and broke it in two. But I've no hesitations anymore."

"You know, Asch complained a lot about you. Called you a dreck and an idiot and all sorts of nasty things," she notices Luke rolling his eyes— _yeah, I know that already, I was in his head, for God's sake_ — and her face softens in a way that could be fond. She looks at the ground. "You still call him Master Van, despite everything. Asch kept flipping out about that."

"He's like that about everything I do."

"Fair point." Natalia shrugs. "It's not just force of habit, is it?" When he doesn't reply immediately, she says, "Don't push yourself so hard. Sometimes I wonder if I should've tried more to get through to you back then."

"Hey, don't sweat it. I was a huge ass, remember?" He nudges her.

Her pale, gloved hand curls around the strap of her quiver. "Do you remember? After you came back from Tataroo Valley, I tried to force my way into your group through blackmail."

"Oh. Huh. Come to think of it, you _did_ do that, didn't you. Defecting to Daath with Master Van… I was such an idiot." He laughs, shakes his head ruefully. "Don't worry about it. I mean… It wasn't all bad. We're all glad to have you here. Even if it did take some getting used to at first."

"It was childish of me. I've learned my lesson since then."

"Me too," and he winces at the memory of the person he used to be. He gives her a look, then turns towards the plaza, the children, the towering statue of a gallant hero. "I remember I didn't understand why you were so insistent on coming along. I thought it was weird for a Kimlascan princess to be concerned so much for a Malkuthian city. Back then, you always seemed so…" his voice trails away.

She narrows her eyes icily at him, arms crossed, "Stuck-up? Self-righteous? Spare me the jabs!"

"You wanted to help them," Luke settles instead, the frankness of his voice surprising her. "To you, that was justice. You might've changed a lot since then, but from the start… your intentions were always good."

They lapse into silence after that, watching the snowflakes.

Until, of course, she breaks it.

"So many things have happened." So many truths to confront, so much bitter medicine to swallow.

"Yeah."

"We're not the same people we were before."

They aren't. The words come easily to her because they're the truth, simple as that. So, she knows, it should've ended then— should've ended a long time ago, really. It would've been right. It would've made sense.

 _A pinky swear? I thought you hated that._

So—

 _You made that promise with Luke. I'm not Luke._

So why—

"Natalia. I'm sorry."

She gives him a fast look, asks him what he means. Her voice doesn't quiver, even as her eyes prickle, and her hands feel frozen even beneath her gloves.

"I couldn't keep my promise."

When the words leave her, it feels as though a burden has been lifted from her chest.

.

The days go by slower ever since they defeated Van. Natalia keeps herself busy; she loves her country and her subjects, and she always makes sure she has places to be, problems to fix, people to see. She owes Kimlasca that much, she tells herself.

Her reflection in the mirror beams at her, her smile almost glowing, and privately, she thinks she looks mature.

She tries not to think of Asch. She hasn't heard from him since the Gate.

She tries not to think of that, either.

On days when she has to try a little harder, no one notices the quiver of her smile, the split-second hesitation before the crease in her brow vanishes and she says she's fine. Of course she's fine. She's stronger than this, always has been. She isn't the type to lose her footing over the thought of a boy.

Sometimes she just forgets, that's all.

"Luke is still sulking," says the duke solemnly, when she comes in to check on him for the first time in a few weeks. "I don't understand what's going on in that foolish head of his. Do come and cheer him up sometime, will you?"

 _Shouldn't that be_ your _job?_ she doesn't say. _Aren't you his father?_ Her expression remains placid.

"You can't stay like this forever. At least talk to your parents. I don't read minds, unfortunately," Natalia sighs, outside his door. She doesn't come in; doesn't even knock, though her knuckles come close to touching the wood. Something compels her against taking that step. The silence stretches, uneasy and unpleasant, and then she says, an honest fragility in her voice: "What I told you in Keterburg… I meant it, you know. What's between me and Asch isn't going to change that. It never will. I hope you understand as much."

Her hand drops back to her side, clenching, but her footsteps are steady as she takes her leave. She figures, fleetingly, that Luke's probably snoozing like an idiot in there, oblivious to it all, and somehow the thought makes her feel better— just a little.

.

The climb up the Tower of Rem is hellish. Her legs are aching horribly before they're even halfway up, and Luke keeps stealing glances at her with concern and something else in his eyes— _there really is no place in this world for replicas_ — but she doesn't complain, doesn't stop or say anything because it's the kind of pain that's almost a comfort, despite the constant healing artes she casts, the unrelenting searing in her muscles a distraction from the horrible throbbing of her heart, the sound wild and caged in her ribs. The air catches in her protesting lungs and she clutches at her chest and wonders aloud why Asch would keep such secrets from her, from them, why someone so young and so strong and with so many things to catch up to would be so eager to sacrifice himself like that.

 _Well, Princess, I think the reason would be you. He doesn't want you and your kingdom to sink into the miasma._

She doesn't want him to die and neither does she want Luke to take his place. It's selfish and horrible and she doesn't understand why it seems to escape Asch's mind that him dying would make her suffer, that it would never be the outcome she wanted. That maybe they're both such fools.

"If you're thinking of taking Asch's place for my sake, then please stop it." Her voice sounds almost pleading, when she tells him how much he means to her, that he's her _friend_ , her dear childhood friend, and he can call himself a fake as many times as he wants and it won't make her believe him, not even a little. He wants them both to live and— _it's for the greater good_ — shouldn't it be that simple?

It isn't.

She's never felt so small and powerless in all her life.

Then she thinks of Tear, thinks of the hurt in her eyes, the shivering fear of her shoulders and the ambiguity of her turned back, and Natalia's voice hitches angrily, "Stop lying to yourself! You know you don't want to die!"

"I don't. I'm scared," Luke says, and he's shaking, and his eyes are so wide and green and terrified, and he's not Asch, but he isn't a fake, either, and they're both making the choice to die and it doesn't even matter, she's never wanted to take his hand and tell him her feelings more in all her life. _Seven years isn't an easy thing to undo,_ she wants to tell him. It might just be her last chance to do it. _I'm sorry, please, please understand._

She doesn't, and she watches them both fight and scream and march to their demise, and when it doesn't happen, she's not surprised to see that Asch is quick to leave them again, justification already ready on his lips.

She thinks by now she's starting to get used to it, though it's a horrible thought. She watches his back as he excuses himself and wonders why, why even after they're both safe it feels like every time he sees Asch it feels like they're both stretching out the last second of a moment, finitely. That no matter what, they're inching closer and closer to a goodbye.

She asks Luke about it, once, and when he doesn't give an answer, she suspects it's because he understands.

.

Asch dies, and she understands. She'd been right, of course she would. Jade's slap on her cheek stings, but she hardly cares when Luke is looking at her like that again, guiltily, like there's no apology he could give her that would make up for him being born, the simple fact of his existence. But it's not an apology she wants, and doesn't he understand that?

It's okay. It's okay, she tells herself.

It's well past the time to say anything.

But then Luke— Luke is going to disappear, too, and as she makes him promise not to die, to come back, she thinks of how horribly unfair it is. That she would continue to lose the people dear to her, over and over again, no matter how she tries. Perhaps it is her fate, she thinks, at the same time she wonders if perhaps she is simply tired of being strong.

.

Luke's room collects dust in the aftermath of the final battle. No one wants to go near it, not even the maids, and so one year later, when Natalia spreads her arms wide, opening the doors, she almost chokes at the plainness of what she sees: the striking placidity of his made-up sheets, the books he's yet to finish (Luke was never much of a reader), the records his mother bought to calm him down and he barely listens to, that painting of Vandesdelca they were too scared to bring down, the cold light falling in from the window, and the thin layer of dust covering every available surface of the room, as if desperately trying to take up space in the absence of the ones who occupied it for years.

He had so much to live for. Him, and Asch too.

It's all so very unfair.

.

She sits for a long time on his bed, hand clasped on her knees, thinking. If Guy were still here, perhaps he'd be starting to worry by now, and the thought makes her smile, almost. She thinks— and it's not as if she's addicted to grieving, she isn't— about a white gown and glorious bells, the fragrant bouquets she'd never get to pick.

She wears a bluer dress, these days, a deeper, more vivid shade than the old one. She always liked that color. Luke said it looked good on her, once, and it stuck, though Natalia always suspected he doesn't remember that part.

Her hand slides across the sheet, and then she's quiet again, a moment that stretches overlong.

"Hey, Luke," she whispers. "You're going to become an adult in a year from now. Guy's still holding out for your return, did you know that? He really is your best friend. Me? To be honest, I'm not sure I'm so optimistic."

She swallows, lets out the breath she was holding. Her face falls.

"I think I'm just a little bitter. It's hardly his fault, but I'd already been let down once, after all. I'm trying to teach myself how to let go; I'm setting back my progress by going here, but I don't mind that much."

"I know you probably can't hear me, but it's alright. I think it might be too late by now to say that Tear's not the only one— though, you know, I kind of was the first. Technically. Sometimes I like to think that counts for something. Doesn't it?"

"Hah," she sighs, after another silence. "I know I'm being silly. I've got other things to be sad about. Like today— don't laugh, but I've taken up cooking again recently— I tried to make pancakes, and the batter exploded spectacularly in my face. Somehow. I wanted to cry. Even Asch would be at a loss of word, I imagine."

"Hm? Why am I still bothering to try, you ask?" Natalia imagines him rolling his eyes. "I thought, when you come back, I'll surprise you with a homemade cake. Then you'll never be able to make fun of my cooking ever again. So you see? Tear isn't the only woman who's waiting."

"So," she starts, and looks at the window, the blue sky visible through the dusty glass, the tremendous vastness of it, the possibilities and _hope,_ and she has to blink her way through the rest of her words, "so, Luke. Please come back. You have to— you must."

For all of us.

.

She pulls herself to her feet, and waits, as always, for his reply.


End file.
